Kiss to Kill
by TheeMizKitty
Summary: I thought that after the war I would never be worth anything again. Until an accident and a chance changed everything. H/D SLASH


Kiss to Kill.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

A/N: This story was a ***** to write.

-o-

I've always wondered what it would take to bring Harry Potter down.

It had to be something large and powerful, something so devastating for sure. I mean, if not even the greatest darkest wizard of all time could not bring Potter down, then what would?

He was a hero, down to the shining core of him. He was the Savior; he was a Saint, the perfect little Gryffindor. He was, simply, untaintable.

And perhaps that's why I despise him the most.

As I look from the Daily Prophet picture of him, smiling and waving to the cheering crowd, down to my own left arm, marred still by the forever black Dark Mark I feel hate rush to my heart, as potent as all the pain I've ever felt. And that's been a hell of a lot of pain, especially recently, with his face everywhere. The new fucking Minister of Magic, Harry Potter. Lately it's almost been enough for me to consider leaving the Wizarding world for good. I mean, if I disappeared who would even care?

No one, except maybe bloody Potter, although I doubt even his holiness would give two flying fucks about me. And perhaps that's what really hurts the most after all.

You see, as often as I've wondered what, or who, it would take to bring Harry Potter down from his pedestal, I've wondered what it would take for me to get to his level. Or, perhaps, for him to ever get to mine.

I am a Death Eater, even if I haven't exactly been an active member for a very long time. The dark mark on my skin automatically places me at a level where I am a leper, where I am to be feared, watched, and sneered at. I know just like everyone else that what I've done was wrong; I understand that there is no hope that I will ever be able to join the Wizarding society completely, even after I have done all I can to try to redeem myself. I understand all of this, but it doesn't make the fact that I am an outcast any easier. It doesn't make the fact that I can never have the chance to ever make Potter look at me that much easier either.

For the most part, not many people notice me anymore; they recognize me, sure, but acknowledge me? Never. I don't mind it, as I'd rather not be glared at anyway, but it never fails to remind me of my insignificance, my new role as a no one. I don't really have much of anything anymore except for my mother, who I know after the death of my father is slowly starting to slip away from me. But you don't really care to hear about that, do you? No, you don't really want to hear about how horrid my life has become, how much I wish for some change, for some hope that at least, of all people, Potter will acknowledge me. You want to hear about what happens when he does acknowledge me, when I finally do get to see him face to face.

I can tell you in all honesty that it all started as an accident, a stupid mistake on my part.

Ever since the war ended and I became a social piranha I've been very careful with my surroundings. I knew that the remaining Death Eaters the Aurors and Ministry—as in Potter— had not caught wanted their revenge, as in their eyes I became a traitor as soon as I stopped responding to the Dark Mark. And I suppose that I am a traitor then, but I can't muster up the courage to care. I do not regret turning my back on dark magic, just as I don't regret the life I live now, holed up in a small flat and living off of the measly inheritance the Ministry has let me keep.

I had always been on the lookout for enemies whenever I went out, because I knew that even though it had been at least a year since I had seen any of them, they were still watching me, waiting.

It had to be complete irony that on this day Harry Potter happened to be shopping at Diagon Alley; I was aware that he was there even before I saw him, just by the lucid number of reporters and cameras all crowded around the doorway to the Weasley's Joke Shop. Despite being the all powerful Minister of Magic, Potter made sure to let none of his friendships slip, especially with Granger and the Weasleys. In fact, Ron Weasley was now one of the top Aurors in Potter's department, and Granger was always called upon to solve tricky problems and recite laws. They were always seen in the paper together, the Golden Trio, looking just as content as they always had at Hogwarts, even during the war.

Those pictures of their smiling faces always found a home in my fireplace, ripped apart by flames. Their happiness was like a needle to my eye; their camaraderie made me grit my teeth. I don't really know why I hate Granger and Weasley as much as I do, especially now when I never see them other than in the various magazines and newspapers they are captured in. I can say that it is jealousy; they are the Minister's best friend's after all, and the three of them always look so fucking happy—the very opposite of what I am. It only made sense that the Golden Trio remained friends, when a Death Eater like me had lost them all. The wicked get what they deserve, I suppose; they just get what they deserve, and little else.

That day, Potter was leaving the shop all alone, and the cameras started to whirl, the questions started to be shouted, screamed, a long string of excitable words with little meaning. From the other side of the street, hidden in the shadows I watched it all unfold, my eyes never leaving Potter's handsome face as he smiled for the camera, his mouth opening to answer some of the questions, but not all of them.

It was because I was so intent on him that I didn't notice the dark shadow looming next to me before it was nearly too late. I had not seen Fenrir Greyback since the last battle, when he had fallen from the battlements at Hogwarts. Everyone had assumed he had died, including me. But the sneering face that appeared before me, grotesque in its scars, in the sheer animosity of the features, was unmistakable even in the dim lighting.

He was too fast for me as I tried to draw my wand, and before I could even blink he was on top of me like the predator he was, his rancid breath washing over me as I struggled fruitlessly under his strength and weight. The shouts from the reporters, those cadaverous creatures, drowned me out as I fell back, already dying inside as I felt a sharp tip stab into my side. A knife? A wand? There was little difference in this world, when both meant death.

I can tell you that I gave up then, lying on the ground with Greyback leering down at me, my own demise reflected in his bloodshot eyes, his gleeful face. I can tell you that I thought there was no hope that I had for living, or even for salvation. I can tell you that I wondered, as he opened his jowls and hot breath washed over me, if even the devil would want me, the man that did not belong with anyone, any side, the good or the bad.

And I saw, as I closed my eyes, the smiling face of Potter, black and white and flashing in my eyes, in my mind. The green eyes the only thing in color—

"_Stupefy_!"

It's funny that whenever I think I'm going to die, whenever I even want to die, I never do. There's always some type of interference, some type of miracle.

That day, my miracle happened to be Potter.

If you had told me years ago, back when I was the arrogant little spit I was at Hogwarts, that in a few years Harry Potter would be saving my life, I would have laughed in your face, and maybe even hexed you too. Why would Potter ever want to save me, his rival, his childhood enemy, a Death Eater?

And, although he had not seen me in a few years, why would he even want to save me now?

But even though I didn't understand it, even though my heart was about to explode in my chest, Potter saved me, his red bolt of magic sending Greyback careening off me to slam into a nearby brick wall, unconscious. But even with his weight off of me, I still found that I could not move.

I had my eyes closed, but I could hear them all whispering around me, closing in on me. The cameras had turned and were clicking away on me, sprawled out on the ground, pale and dirty and pathetic with my eyes closed. I didn't dare open them now, until I heard a familiar voice start to speak over it all.

"Turn those bloody things off of him for a second! Can't you see he's shaken up?" the Minister of Magic snarled, and instantly all the clicking of the cameras stopped. I made sure not to move as I heard him approach, hoping that maybe he would think I had fainted and would just leave me alone so that I could suffer in quiet.

But that wasn't to be so. I felt his presence, so powerful and warm, hovering next to me as he actually bent down so that he was just over me, and those eyes—so green they were like knives—digging into me. All I could do was lay there and take it.

"Malfoy?" he asked me, so gently it made me wonder if it was really him speaking to me, of all people. Or perhaps he was just showing off for the press still crowded around us like vultures. "Malfoy, can you hear me? I know you're still conscious."

And to think that I had ever scorned Potter for his lack of perception! Very carefully I allowed my eyes to peek open, not quite sure what I would see. For starters, I was taken aback by how close he was, his face practically in mine as he leaned over me to study my face. All I could see was a sea of green and his smile, his handsome smile that made me shiver as he threw it down on me mercilessly.

"Hello Malfoy," he said to me then, amid all the stirrings from the reporters, amidst the renewed flashes of bulbs. "How have you been the last few years?"

And what more could I do but stare up at him, incredulous. Really, I had absolutely nothing to say; I couldn't even muster up a stammered response to thank him for saving my life. I could only follow his lead as he grabbed my arm in one strong, warm hand and hefted me to my feet. To me eternal embarrassment I ended up staggering into him, his arms coming around to catch me as the cameras went off, catching the moment, the embarrassment. My cheeks were aflame and my heart was having trouble beating at a normal rhythm as I stood still for a moment in his arms, too shocked to move; too shocked to realize that he didn't let me go as he started to move, taking me with him.

Around us the reporters parted like a sea as I leaned unintentionally into the strong body behind me, supporting me as I stumbled along, pulled along with him by his arms. Ducking my head I tried the best I could to hide my face from the photographers, but I knew it was no good—they no doubt recognized the signature platinum Malfoy locks.

"Mr. Malfoy! How does it feel to be rescued by Minister Potter?"

I don't know, how does it feel?

I really couldn't seem to feel anything at all.

"Malfoy, who was it that attacked you?"

"Minister Potter can I ask as to why you saved Mr. Malfoy?"

"You do recall all that he has done to you Minister?"

"Minister Potter, Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater—"

"—happy to get public attention again Mr. Malfoy?"

Their words were cruel, but I had handled much worse. I just let Potter lead me through them all, uncaring where exactly where we were going. In truth I only heard a few of the questions they were throwing at us, but Potter, by the way he was slowly tensing against me, heard them and had not quite developed a thick skin yet.

Just as I was beginning to wonder why it mattered to him what they were saying about me, he began to yell. "You lot, get the bloody fuck out of here so that I can take him away! Merlin can't you shut your traps for a damn minute?"

Obediently chastised by their hero and ruler, the reporters fell silent, although some excited whispering could still be heard amid them. Their startled faces probably reflected mine as Potter dragged me away from them into, of all places, the Weasley Joke Shop, not releasing me until the door was closed, locking the reporters out, and I was far away from the windows the noses were pressed to. I noticed dimly that the Weasleys were not around, probably having just closed the shop and apparated home, or they were in the backroom away from where we were. Either way, I found myself—to my dismay and delight—alone with Harry Potter.

Once free of his arms I wobbled a little bit, still lost in a daze as I took in the brightly colored objects around me, the gags and jokes that looked like anything like that to me at that moment. I looked everywhere but at Potter, almost too afraid to see his expression and what I knew would be in his eyes.

I had seen it so many times now.

Disgust.

Anger.

Pity.

A potent mixture that made me weary of everyone's eyes. Although I could not help but remember earlier when I had opened my eyes to them peering down at me, so big and bright they had been and filled with an emotion I had not seen in years.

Genuine worry and concern…

But then, it could have all just been an act, the Minister of Magic saving a civilian who just happened to be an ex-Death Eater; it would do wonders for his already enlarged public appeal.

"Malfoy?" I heard him say to me as I began to studiously study the love potion display near us. The little pink bottles seem to blur altogether, the pulsating hearts on the bottles one throbbing mass. "Malfoy can you hear me?"

My mouth slowly creaked open. "Yes…" So weak, so delicate; how long has it been since I was talked to, addressed?

I heard Potter step closer and I resisted the urge to reflectively shut my eyes. "You're still really pale," he told me, an odd twinge to his voice that I dared not even try to analyze. "Where do you live? I want to take you home."

I felt panic set in like a second heartbeat in my chest. I couldn't let him see my home, if you could even call it that! I couldn't let him—

"I'll be fine," I forced myself to say quietly, "Really, Minister, don't worry about me. I'm getting better."

Yeah, right. Of course I was.

I could all but see the frown stretch out over his handsome features, his brow crinkling in his confusion and disdain. "Minister?" he repeated blankly, "since when did you call me by that Malfoy? I thought I'd always be Potter to you."

I had to dig my nails into my palm to stay calm and steady. "Things change," I told him quietly, neutrally, "I don't think I have the right to address you by your last name anymore."

"And why is that?" Potter practically growled, and I tried my best not to start. The love potions were blurring before my eyes.

"I think you know why," I said quietly, ominously. "I think you know why."

"No actually, I don't," Potter responded sharply, "and what is wrong with you? You are not the Malfoy I remember."

I allowed a smile to stretch over my cheeks at that, as hollow and wooden as I was. "I know, nice change isn't it? No more snarky comments, no more spoiled brat."

Draco Malfoy, as far as I was concerned before that day, was a dead man.

It was for the best, it was already done; so why then did Potter exhale heavily? Why then did his glare seem to intensify ten-fold on me?

"I refuse to believe that," he replied, "I'm sure he's in there somewhere, behind this act."

Act? I wanted to laugh until I died from it.

"This is no act Potter," I told him quietly, "This is me now. I've changed, and I'm sure you agree that it's for the better."

"I would never say that!" Potter growled again. I froze as his warm hand darted out again, grabbing my arm in a tight grip even as I went rigid. "Malfoy I—"

"Minister Potter," an unexpected shrill voice from the doorway said. "Oh Minister Potter, it's time to be leaving!"

I did not turn to look at the women, instead turning my downcast head away from the love potions to stare down at my hands, folded together in front of me limply. In my peripheral vision I noticed that Potter was still staring at me.

Was he even blinking?

"Not yet Amy," Potter answered, "I have to take Malfoy home first."

I tried my best not to flinch reflectively at that as I lifted my chin slightly. "I told you, Minister Potter, I will be fine now. There is no need, and I certainly don't want to keep you from anything."

I was truly half expecting him to give up. He had already proven that he was still a hero to the press, and I was slowly becoming steadier on my feet; although admittedly I still felt dizzy, but I think it had to do more with those green eyes glaring into me than anything else now.

I should have known that Potter wouldn't leave me alone and in peace.

"I want to see you back anyway. You're an old school-mate after all, and I'd like to hear how you've been."

I felt my jaw drop some. Did he really just suggest that we were 'school-mates?' as though we were anything but the bitterest of enemies back then?

"Well, all you really need to know that I'm alive," I said curtly, "There's very little beyond that."

That was the truth, too.

Of course Potter couldn't accept that and move on with his grand life.

"Come now, I can at least buy you a drink or something. Amy, why don't you go back out there and tell them all to disperse, I'm going to be Apparating out with Malfoy."

Fuck. "Apparating to where?" I asked, involuntarily raising my eyes so that I could see half his face. So I could see his lips. Erk.

Those pink lips tilted up into a small smile, and I quickly looked down again as blood rushed to my face, a heady rush that made me dizzy again. "I don't know, I guess it all depends on where you want to go?"

My mouth was almost painfully dry. "You can't apparate to my house if you don't know what it looks like, and I can't very well go back to your house—"

"Why can't you?" he cut me off, persistent. "I invite you to come back with me, and we can talk some more. I am not lying when I said I want to catch up with you Draco."

He just had to say my name, didn't he? _Draco,_ not Malfoy or even Draco Malfoy but just Draco, as though we were always friends; as though we were two entirely different people.

But then, weren't we? I was not the same, so how could I assume that he was the same? How could I assume that I knew him as the Gryffindor Potter at all?

The last I had seen of him, I can remember vividly; the last time he looked at me was when he had been walking away, drowned out in the cheers from the Great Hall, loud enough to shout glass. That last time he had looked at me, I could see myself reflected in his glasses, in his eyes, so beaten down and dirtied, and then he'd left. He had not looked back at me, and I had not looked back at him.

I had expected to never to see him again, not in person. I knew that I would still hear about him everywhere so long as he was still Harry Potter, the Savior, but I had never really thought that someone as important as he was now would run into someone as meaningless as me. And that he would actually take some sort of bizarre interest in me. There was nothing for him to really know about me, and I'm pretty sure he knew it too just by looking at my ordinary robes, not even dress robes anymore.

So then why did he ask me…?

I forced a tight smile to my face as I inspected his dark green robes; they were obviously tailor-made. "I appreciate the offer Minister but I really need to be getting home. I have…important matters to take care of."

Important matters that included lying in bed, staring up at the falling in ceiling and wondering where the fuck my life went wrong. But of course he didn't need to know all of that.

I should have known that Potter wouldn't give up that easily; he never had. Maybe he had not changed so much, after all.

And why was I surprisingly fine with that conclusion?

"Draco, please, I would really appreciate it. We can only talk for, say, fifteen minutes and then you can apparate home."

I just wanted him to shut up at this point; I just wanted him to leave me in my misery; I just wanted to show him a little bit of the Malfoy that still existed, however hollow how, still deep inside.

"Look Potter, I really am not in the mood for pity. It was nice of you to save me but that's all that you had to do; now it's time to stop playing hero and let me go!"

I still had not looked at him, and that proved to be my fault in the end. I went to move past him, with every purpose of leaving the shop and Potter behind. With a movement too fast for me to notice, he had his arm suddenly wrapped around my bicep, and as I whirled back to face him, my mouth open, my eyes flashing, I was suddenly being swept away in the pulls and turns of Apparition.

-o-

It figured that Potter's house would be simple and mundane, functional instead of elaborate; in short, Potter's house was just like the man himself, demure and homely despite the wealth the man no doubt held in his accounts.

Not that I really had time to notice Potter's house or anything; at this point in time, I was far too pissed off to see anything but red. I immediately shook Potter's arm off as soon as everything came into view, stepping quickly away from him to snarl. "What the bloody hell Potter! I said I wanted to go home and you—you basically just kidnapped me!"

"Calm down Draco," Potter replied nonchalantly, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him take a step toward me. "I only want to talk for a little while. And why won't you look at me?"

Damn him—he had grown more astute then I gave him credit for. I could feel a hot flush start to creep up my neck as I studied his brick fireplace, the pictures on top of it. Every single one had Granger and the Weasleys in them. "Why did you bring me here?" I asked him in return, "What do you want with me?"

What could he want, when I had nothing to offer?

"I already told you," Potter sighed, "I just want to talk. And why won't you look at me?"

It was too late for me to react before he was there, right in front of me, and I was no longer looking at the laughing pictures of Potter and his friends, but at the real thing. Those green eyes were like acid, eating me alive and blinding me until I could not look away. There was nothing else left in that room but Potter and try as I might, I could not look away. Not now, then when?

"See?" I heard him mutter, and those green eyes seemed to blaze brighter and brighter. "Was that so hard?"

He had no idea, did he? I struggled to find myself under his eyes, pinned like a helpless insect to a board. "I-I really have nothing to talk about P-Potter. What do you even w-want to know?"

"Everything," Potter told me simply, as though everything were that easy. "I want to know where you work, where you live, how you've been. I'm sure your life's been…changed."

He didn't need to say it—I could see the memory of the trial in those burning eyes of his. I could see my parents' conviction, my fortune, my life drained away so that I had nothing, a newborn stepping out into the world shivering and so very disoriented, trying to at least find some sort of shelter.

The war had taken everything from me, and it certainly taught me a thing or two about life. Draco Malfoy, heir to fortunes, Slytherin Ice Prince and bastard extraordinaire, was dead. But then who was left in his place?

And how could I tell Potter anything about me now, when I barely knew anything myself?

"I think everything is a lot to ask for Potter," I told him carefully, lowering my eyes again when his eyes became too much.

They were always too much, and always had been. If there was one thing in my life that had not changed after the trial, it was the ability for Harry Potter to agitate me.

"Then just tell me the facts then. Where are you living?"

"Why do you need to know?" I asked back, defensively, "Do you plan to have my house monitored for suspicious activity because of what I used to be?"

Bitterness seemed to be the only thing I could fall back on anymore. I could see Potter start to retrace his steps carefully, perhaps realizing that he was on dangerous territory.

"Of course not! I just want to know how you've gotten on without the Manor."

"Decently well," I told him blandly as I examined his black leather couch, the dark red curtains. Part of me was really surprised the room didn't have more Gryffindor colors in it.

"I hear you work as a Healer at St. Mungo's now," he replied casually, and I tried not to blink in astonishment. How had he known? "I'm the Minister, it's my job to know about Ex-Death Eater's," Potter answered my unspoken question, almost in a gentle tone. "You however are a special interest of mine."

Oh fuck, why was my heart beating so fast? I swallowed, looked down at my hands. They shook faintly. "Oh? And why is that Potter?"

"I never would have thought that you'd become a Healer you know; just the thought of you saving people…It still startles me. But as I look at you now…"

He stepped closer to me, too close. I try to step back but my legs brush his couch and I know that he has me trapped. I tried not to breathe harshly as he raised his hand, wearily watching from the corner of my eye as it drew closer to me. He placed his hand on my shoulder and I felt like I was hit with the stunning curse, immobile as that hand began to move along, found the skin of my throat. His touch burned me and I had lost the ability to breathe.

I think part of me was too far in a state of astonishment for me to stop him from grabbing my chin, tilting my eyes up until they met his again. Electrified, numb in all places but my heart which was beating so fast I was sure he could hear it, I met his eyes and saw in them a tenderness that made me much dizzier than earlier, when I thought my life was over.

But then, this might just be an entirely different way to end my life.

"As I look at you now," he whispered into the space between us, which was becoming smaller and smaller. His heat crashed around me like a wave, and I was being drowned. "I can see why you'd make the perfect Healer. You're so much different and yet, in some ways, you're the same. You're so…" He trailed off, and a part of me was glad he did; I don't think I could have handled to hear the rest of that sentence with him staring at me, with such tenderness that I felt my body start to tremble.

It was not right that he look at me this way, not right at all. He was the Minister of Magic, he was Harry Potter, he was my old school rival; the concept that he could even look at me with such eyes as ludicrous. He had to be under some sort of spell perhaps, or he had gotten a head injury or—

"You must think I'm mad," he smiled at me, and his breath whispered across my face. "And I don't blame you. You probably think that I have no idea what I'm doing, but I really do. I told you already, you fascinate me Draco Malfoy; you've always fascinated me. What you've done with your life is not only admirable, but it's astonishing. I always knew you were strong."

I said nothing; what could I say? His fingers were caressing the skin of my neck, raising goosebumps. Did he even notice what he was doing? From the intensity in those eyes, I knew that he did, he knew damn well what he was doing.

"I-I'm not strong at all Potter," I tried to stumble my way along, tried to twist myself away from his heated gaze, his soft touch. "I just did what I needed to do to survive, that's all. A-And you haven't seen me in years—"

"I regret not seeing you sooner," he cut me off gently, "life just wasn't the same without you around pestering me—"

"I was your bully. I tormented you, Potter. How could you miss that person?" The bitterness was back, biting at the edges of my voice. I pulled away from his touch, looked away from his eyes. It was time for me to leave, because it had all become too much. Potter had missed me; Potter had watched me, Potter…

There was no possibility for anything beyond what had already been said. He called me strong, but why should I believe him? I am nothing compared to him, and somewhere we both know it. Perhaps none of this is even real and I am dead, my body lying in the street, torn apart by Greyback's teeth. It's all just a lucid fantasy that is nonsensical, but at the same time it is everything I fear I've been searching for.

It's always been Potter, always.

He seemed to sense me drawing away from him, and hurriedly tried to rectify the situation. "I know this might be hard for you to comprehend, but there's just something about you that wants me to know more. I don't know what it is, but I do know that it's affecting me. I'm sorry if you didn't want to talk to me, it's just…when I saved you I saw it as the perfect chance to just talk to you. Start over again, I suppose."

Start over again, he says; but as what?

I didn't dare ask that aloud; I didn't dare say anything. My heart was in my throat and I felt like if I opened my mouth, it would fall out to splatter at his feet.

To start over again… Didn't he realize just how much he was asking? A part of me just wanted to completely forget my life, the life I had had before. The life that involved Potter. But here he was, bringing it all back again. He wanted to be my friend—he wanted to stoop to my level and bring me to his. We were talking like equals, like he talks to Granger and Weasley. I was in his house. He was acknowledging me; he was treating me with all the respect he treats other people.

This was all I had ever wanted; this is more then I had dreamed of, really.

So why then did it feel so wrong?

I can tell you, and you'll think it's disgusting; I can tell you, and you'll hate me as much as I hate myself.

It was all because I didn't want to bring him to my level; it was because I didn't deserve to be at his.

I thought back to all the reporters that had swarmed him, each smiling face of Potter that grazed the papers. Each honor, each act, each life he had saved. He really was a hero, his personality made of valor, so kind and yet so ruthless when it was needed.

He said that he wanted to know me, he wanted to be friends and start over, but he didn't realize how much he was still unattainable to me; he didn't see the gap that would always exist between us. He didn't realize that no matter what, he would always be the Savior and I would be an Ex-Death Eater. No talk could change that, no gentle warm touch and kind set of eyes would ever bring us together.

If he didn't see that, then I would have to be the one to end this, before it ever started. Whatever this even was to begin with.

I still could not figure him out as he continued to stare at me, smiling. His eyes were intense, but his demeanor was not; he said he wanted us to be friends, but then why was his hand still on my shoulder? Why was he so close to me?

I had to get away.

"Listen Minister I'm sure you have plenty of things you must be doing that are more important," I tried as I attempted to edge around him. He just stared at me, shifting his body slightly so that he was still blocking me in, however subtle he thought the move might look. Perhaps it was then that I began to understand that Potter wouldn't let me go without a fight, and that idea all itself was downright terrifying.

As though he cared…

"Don't you think you're important anymore, Draco?" he asked softly, and I bit my tongue. I wanted to scream at him to stop using my name, to stop saying it so gently with such fucking care. It was just a name, but Potter was starting to make it sound like a prayer. Potter was making it sound like my name was actually worth something.

"I don't think I'm important to you, Minister, and if I am that is news to me," I told him swiftly. My hands were white knuckled and cold as they wrapped around each other. "Now please Minister Potter, I really should leave. There really is nothing for us to discuss, and we both know it. I'd appreciate it if you'd stop acting like you give a damn and treating me as your latest charity case."

"You think you're a charity case to me?" Potter asked, and he sounded amused. I closed my eyes so that I would not glare.

"Clearly Potter, because there is no other fathomable reason then for your behavior. No one wants me, and the idea that you're even acknowledging me is enough for me to think that there is something wrong. So cut the shit, and ask me what it is you really want from me."

"Okay fine, have it your way. I want to know who you are now. I want to know what you've been up to, what you like, what your little quirks are…If the old Malfoy I remember is still with you…"

My eyes snapped open in astonishment and met his somber ones. His hand touched my arm, so steady and strong that I found myself almost relaxing, almost giving in.

"Potter stop…" I whispered to him quietly, "I told you I've changed…"

He just stared at me for a long moment almost skeptically, and I felt irritation build inside of me.

"You're fucking kidding with me," I growled, pulling away from his arm. He let it drop but his eyes didn't leave mine. "You're pissing with me Potter! The Minister can't be friends with—with a Death Eater! I already told you, no! Let me leave NOW."

Did he think that I was that naïve? He wanted something from me, I knew it; just like everyone else he wanted to take something else away from me and hold it over my head.

And right now, he was certainly holding my heart over my head.

"You're not a Death Eater anymore," he replied so damn calmly. "And I know that you've reformed yourself. I've been watching you and you've done good; working at St Mungo's, living a quiet lifestyle—"

"I don't need you to recount to me my whole life thanks," I bit out sharply, "And I'd appreciate if you'd stop watching me Potter. I don't care if I fascinate you, I won't be used as your form of entertainment! Find another broken man to watch."

I turned from him, from those lovely green eyes, with the full intention of stomping from the room. There seemed nothing else for either of us to say, if there was even anything to say in the first place. The door knob was in my hand when I was attacked from behind, a warm weight pushing me harshly away from the door so that I stumbled back, almost falling on my arse.

Furious I glared up at Potter blocking the exit, insults on my tongue as I prepared to release hell—

When I was suddenly crushed into strong arms.

"You're wearing that expression," Harry Potter whispered hotly in my ear. Against my chest his heart was racing. "That expression from Hogwarts that you always did when you were about to hex me, hurl insults at me…Oh Merlin that expression…"

I didn't understand this at all. I tried to struggle my way out of those arms but they held on tight as though intent on squeezing me to death.

"Potter have you lost your mind?" I growled at length in utter frustration. His laughter sounded delighted as it shook my body, shook my mind.

"There he is, hidden under it all! You were starting to scare me actually; I was beginning to think you really were a stranger. But now…"

I breathed in deeply, regretting it when I only inhaled his intoxicating scent. My head was starting to swim and I wanted so desperately to blame it on confusion instead of what it really was.

"You shouldn't know me at all Potter, not at all." I swallowed hard. "Whatever happened in the past doesn't affect us now, so you should just forget about me. I won't turn back into the snotty boy who mocks you once you turn your back on me."

"I never plan on turning my back on you," he breathed into my neck and I could not repress my shudder. Oh Merlin, was that his…lips on my neck?

"Potter!" I squeaked, "What are you—"

"You've always done more than fascinate me Draco Malfoy, so much more. You've intrigued me, challenged me, tempted me…looked at me…"

His lips on my skin were stealing my thoughts, taking over my mind. They felt like satin and with his scent encasing me…I could almost taste him.

I knew I was in trouble; I knew that I had to escape before it was too late. It was just like years before, when I stood on a precarious edge much like this one, torn between what my family wanted me to do, and what I wanted to do.

And what did I want to do?

Well, let's just say it was very close to what was happening presently.

I have known for years that what I felt for Harry Potter transcended obsession; perhaps I've known that since I met him, all those years ago. I never wanted to kill him, as I had professed so many times before, a lie in my head and a lie on my lips. I only ever really wanted to kiss him, just once, in a place where I could, where we were both equals and there was no ex-Death Eater, no perfect Golden Hero.

But was that existence possible? To feel him pressed against me, so warm, so human and not just a picture from a tabloid, not just a man who had everything, a body of power…

I was starting to think, almost hopefully that maybe just maybe it could be.

Maybe…

"I've been waiting for you Draco, to come back into my life again. It's been very dull without you."

I tried and failed to hear any lies in those words as my mind hurried to convince me I was just a plaything to him, still just a charity case.

Merlin why did he have to be so sincere and so…close!

"Y-You could have found someone else to argue with; s-surely not everyone l-loves you."

_Not like I do, Harry Potter, not like I do._

"No," his hot breath ate at my ear. "I suppose not. But not everyone's as brave and beautiful and collected and so very…you as you are. There is no one else, even if I don't know everything about you anymore, even if you decide that you still hate me, even after all these years and all these changes…"

He pulled away long enough to look into my dazed eyes, and I was sucked back into the utter green of them, the sheer brilliant brightness. "Say something Malfoy," he whispered, almost against my lips. "I know this is strange but—"

I can't tell you why I did it; maybe for a second I lost my mind. Maybe for a second I finally let my heart burst free.

Maybe for a second, under his warm eyes, I felt like I was actually worth something.

So I just stopped caring. He was the Minister of Magic, he was Harry Potter; I was an Ex-Death Eater, I was Draco Malfoy.

But for that second, in my mind, he was just a boy with no name and the brightest green eyes with his arms wrapped around me, and his breath tasted so sweet.

In a second I kissed him; in a second I died.

It was a kiss to kill; like the venom of a poisonous snake entering the bloodstream, like the killing curse tracing up your body until it eventually reached your heart. Ripe like the most forbidden of fruit Harry Potter's lips attacked mine almost ferociously, stealing all the thoughts I might have gathered of pulling away of somehow resisting before it was too late and all my dreams were vanquished by reality, always reality.

But he just tasted so good…

It just felt so right…

He was all but attacking me, ravaging my mouth, my neck, my soul. I could only cling to him, shut my eyes and feel his warmth and take it. Take it all until eventually I knew I would explode from it…

His hands ran down my sides, igniting me and freezing me at the same time. His touch was so light that it almost seemed as though it was not real at all. What would I do if it wasn't really real? What would I do if I knew that this was all just a marvelous dream and Greyback really had ended my life and sent me to the place of my dreams—to be in Harry's arms.

What would you do when you thought that your heaven was a lie?

His hands were on the buttons to my robes and his mouth searing into my throat when I managed to break free of him. My vision was blurry with lust—or was it tears?—as I forced myself to meet his confused eyes, those eyes that killed me. How could I have forgotten who I was? Who he was? How could I have forgotten how worthless I was, just a game, just a quick shag to Harry Potter, the Minister of Magic?

"Draco—" Potter tried to begin but I wouldn't let him. I could never let him, because I knew that whatever he said I might actually start to believe.

"Enough!" I snarled, "I refuse to be your little hussy _Minister _Potter! I refuse to be anything to you at all!"

I was again at the door, about to make my break from the stunned Minister of Magic, when he put strong wards up, repelling me and keeping me in the room with him. By then I was utterly enraged.

"Potter!" I whirled around, wand out. "You bastard—"

But I wasn't the only one enraged. One look into his hard face, one flick of his wrist and my wand was torn away from me by his power, landing on the floor some feet away and leaving me completely defenseless and at his mercy. And he would be merciless.

His determination and power crackled through the room as he started to approach me, and I could only press myself against the door behind me and clutch at it desperately, my blocked means of escape.

Potter didn't stop until he was directly in front of me, so close that I had to tilt my head back to look at him still, my eyes watching him wearily. No one refused the Golden Boy, the Minister of Magic, not like I just had and now—

"There you are, my Malfoy," he was breathing heavily and I could not understand why, or why he was looking at me with such wild, wild eyes. "There's the Malfoy I remember…always being stubborn and turning your back on me…" I didn't understand what he meant and I wasn't inclined to ask as he inched so impossibly closer, until I was trapped between his body and the door.

And wait, wasn't he the one who turned his back on _me?_

"Yelling and swearing and looking at me with such unbridled passion, even in your anger…" I should have started to push him away. Hell, I should have at least glared at him! But he froze me, stopped me in my tracks like he's always been able to do, with just one look in his eyes and one press of his lips.

I was under Harry Potter's spell, and I liked it, I liked it so much that I had to hate it, despise it completely. There were a million reasons why I should not tolerate him being so close to me, and yet as he started to kiss me more passionately, as he crushed me to his chest, I could not think of a single one.

I would be lying to you if I said that I didn't enjoy his kisses, or his touches, or every little thing about him. In his arms and under the assault of his ardent lips, it was so easy to just forget about all the details of life, from the small ones—like the fact that the doorknob was digging painfully into my back—to the big ones, like the reality that he was the Minister of Magic and I am an ex-Death Eater and we were childhood rivals that transcended any normal boyhood rivalry.

"Potter," I groaned as he attacked my neck, sucking and licking in earnest. I was dizzy as I tried valiantly to pull together my thoughts. "Potter let me go—"

"Never," he hissed against my skin before he bit down, and I was left to moan wantonly as he sucked and soothed my abused flesh. "I'm never letting you go again."

"Nng, but w-why?" His words were starting to get to me more than even his touches were. "W-Why are you s-saying—oh Merlin!—such things?"

Abruptly he pulled back, and I could not help but let a moan of disappointment slip from my lips. His lips were red and shiny and appeared oh-so kissable as he stared at me, his eyes—which were already so dark—appearing nearly black as he gazed into my own. And I swear to you, in that instant my heart nearly stopped beating.

"How could I not say such things?" he said lowly. "How could I not when I've wanted you for so long, wanted and dreamt and—"

He cut himself off with a harsh breath, which I felt tremble down my entire body. There was something inside of me, that damnable piece of my heart that transcended beyond my lust for him, that started to grow like a plant slowly finding the sunlight. I didn't want to hear anymore, but where could I go?

"You wanna know something Malfoy?" he whispered into the shell of my ear, leaning in so close that I could see every little detail of his face, his handsome, precious face. I drank it all in until I was heady from it, from _him. _"I wasn't just conveniently there when Greyback attacked you. I…had been watching you. Discreetly so that the media wouldn't catch on, but I'd been watching you, always watching you. Always…"

I shouldn't have been as stunned as I was. It was almost like I had been hit with a paralysis spell. Harry Potter watching me…?

"Were you making sure I was being good?" I tried to sneer. Tried to work my last defense before he cut me open and I was laid bare to him. "Watching the Death Eater?"

"I wasn't watching a Death Eater," Potter told me, a funny little smile curling at his lips. "I was watching the man that I love."

I will tell you, I was very surprised the world didn't end after that.

_Or perhaps mine did then, my old one, and a new one began. _

I was shocked, stupefied, frightened, astonished, catatonic, startled, hopeful, sick, giddy, hot, and cold all at once—

Overwhelmed, pushed to my limit I could only reach out with my trembling hands and grab the front of his robes and cling. I felt that he was real, felt the frantic fluttering of his heart beneath my hands and vaguely noticed that he was trembling right alongside me. His eyes appeared too large in his face; his face appeared too pale for his skin. I wanted to say something, I really did, but I was lost for words. The hope in my chest was starting to eat me alive, despite my ever persistent pessimistic judgment.

He loved me…

"Draco…? I can understand if this is coming as a shock to you. I mean, what reason do you have to believe me?" Potter was rambling, and through roaring ears I could barely understand what he was saying. "I'm your enemy, right? Although I saved you, you have no real reason to trust me and I'm just foolish and hopeful and—"

All at once, something inside of my chest exploded and I was pulling him down to me, desperately, and met my trembling lips with his. There was no longer a voice in my head as I kissed him with every bit of passion I had ever dared feel for him. There was no longer any voice at all. He was the Minister and I was a Death Eater, but together we are just average wizards overcome with feelings and emotions and passions.

And I guess that's all that ever mattered in the end.

"Oh Draco," Potter muttered over and over against my tongue. "Draco…I love you…I love you…"

I didn't know when I started crying, I only knew that when Potter—when _Harry _—pulled away he held me with infinite care, his strong body supporting mine so easily as I at long last caved into him and the flux of emotions that he always inspired within me.

I was still skeptic, and I was still frightened and I still almost felt like it was all some colossal joke. But then I just felt the way he held me frantically to his chest, the way his lips fluttered over mine like a second pulse and I realized that maybe it was time to just stop caring. Maybe it was time to take the risks the old Draco Malfoy had done, back in a time where we were schoolboys and the darkness had not just eclipsed the sunlight of innocence.

"Stay with me," Potter rambled against the skin of my neck. "Please Merlin say you'll stay with me…."

It would have been so easy to deny him. He had denied me once, all those years ago when I had been too smug and he had been too bigoted and everything was different. I would have refused him then. But now…?

I nodded. I nodded and felt his heart pick up against mine. As he laid tiny kisses all over my face, I thought _finally, we're on the same level._

"You better know what you're getting yourself into Potter," I whispered, and his laughter was drowned by my lips. He would know, eventually, if he didn't already that Malfoy's, even one as broken as I am, play for keeps. From now on, Potter would have to fight to get rid of me, almost as much as he had fought to get a hold of me. All in a single day…that felt like it lasted for years and years and years. Thinking back to my childhood, to the bespeckled green eyed boy sitting laughing at Gryffindor table, perhaps it had been.

You want to know something? I've always wondered what it would take to bring Harry Potter down. And then I realized with a smile on my face as I leaned in for another kiss, that it has always been me.

The war had changed everything, and perhaps the biggest example of that was the way Harry Potter held me, Draco Malfoy in his arms. We had both lost and gained, and although we can't ever escape from our pasts, maybe, just maybe, the future will overshadow them.

-o-

I don't have much to say, only that I started this story with zeal and then sort of lost it in the end. I hope that doesn't show but if it does, sorry, but life's gotten complicated for me and I just sort of lost interest in this story. Basically I just wanted to get it finished because if I didn't finish it now, I never would have. Sorry if it's rush, anyone wanna leave some comments?


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